


Break the Dawn

by justmariamay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Michael (Supernatural), Canon-Typical Violence, Demon Adam Milligan, Demon Bela Talbot, Devil Michael, Family, M/M, Mark of Cain, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 05:05:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15187436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justmariamay/pseuds/justmariamay
Summary: Hell is where kisses leave scars and love is war where nobody wins.





	Break the Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> I just love Devil!Michael and eventually I'll write every possible AU with him, ok? Also, this ship is too damn precious to me.

Gadreel has stopped listening to what Metatron is saying. He talks too much and never says enough. Evasive, weaving his webs of words like a spider. So Gadreel doesn’t pay attention, he has a lot to think about. Things he did… the young prophet, Abner – it didn’t seem right or righteous. But Gadreel wants to go home and have a place there. That’s all he wants now. And only Metatron can give him that.

Lights flicker and few bulbs break. Grayish dawn crawls into the room through the glass. There is someone sitting on the windowsill looking outside.

“Stories, huh? Is that what it’s all about?” hollow voice interrupts Metatron’s speech. “Well, I hope you didn’t like this one too much.”

The Tablet appears in his hand, signs flash brightly one after another responding to the touch.

Metatron’s grace is twisted with pure horror.

“You!..” he exclaims, obviously recognizing the unwelcome guest.

He can’t finish as the stranger puts finger to his lips and within second the Scribe is choking with his own blood. Gadreel doesn’t make a move not able to tear his eyes from big white wings stained with black and red, damaged but still emanating power, they shiver slightly. Calm voice continues:

“You’ve never learned the weight of the word. I wonder if you ever listen to what you say. Words mean so much more when there is silence in between.”

A pause follows and then silence shatters along with the Word of God. Metatron can only whimper pitifully at the sight. Pale shaky hands are covered with dust one can hardly call divine. It dawns on Gadreel agonizingly slowly. He’s sure he knows who this is and what has just happened, but cannot grasp it yet.

Feet in black shoes touch the floor without a sound. Yet every step seems heavy and reluctant. He walks around Metatron and puts hands on his shoulder. Fleeting agony reflects on the Scribe’s face as if it’s knives, not fingers, that dig into his flesh. The angel has a tall vessel, not as tall as Gadreel’s, but Metatron seems so small near him.

“I shouldn’t have let you leave, Metatron. I knew it could come to this and now I have to clean your mess. Well, it’s always been my job, cleaning the younger’s mess… Your knowledge is your only weapon, devastating if you get others to trust you,” he glances at Gadreel while Metatron is still spitting blood. “But what you are really good at is fooling yourself. You are no God. Oh, He trusted you, He did, but you are… irrelevant,” it sounds like a death sentence, voice toneless calm, disinterested.  “Your story ends here, brother,” he makes the full circle to stand in front of Metatron and look him in the eye, hand is raised in a familiar gesture. A gesture of blessing. “And trust me,  _this_  is a happier ending than you deserve.”

 

‘ _Brother?_ ’ echoes in Gadreel’s head. For a moment, one fleeting moment, Gadreel thinks it’s Lucifer. But no. No way the Morning Star could become so pale and quiet. Lucifer Gadreel remembers was angry and loud and bright and fearsome. The one before him is terrifying but in completely different way. Still, there is a familiarity. A painful sort, one that mercilessly twitches his feathers and burns his fingertips.

Metatron burns too. He along with his vessel turns into pile of cinder within seconds. He probably didn’t even suffer. Gadreel wonders if it’s his turn now.

The angel turns to face him and steps closer. He tilts his head and hair covers his eye, lips form unsure but sincere smile.

“How strange… I’ve remembered you only now. It’s like your image was just ripped from my mind. All this time I was missing something, but couldn’t understand what,” he reaches his hand out and Gadreel steps back. There is blood under his fingernails. “You must despise me, don’t you, Gadreel? I’d hate me if I was capable of such emotion.” His name is uttered so gently it hurts. “Father hated me for sure, from the very first moment. He could never forgive my existence, no matter what I did for him.”

There was something Gadreel forgot, too. Or at least tried not to remember. Time goes by and you stop waiting and calling. Then you stop hoping. And among the things that kept him together but right on the verge of falling apart, aside from Abner’s friendship and Thaddeus’ tortures, was a promise he made. A promise he should have never made.

Blue eyes flicker and angel continues:

“I never could hate Lucifer. Even as his life was fading away I felt… nothing. At last, I felt nothing at all,” he chuckles softly and bitterly. “And then I became him. It was supposed to be my role after all, but I gave it Lucifer, like I gave him everything I had.”

Gadreel can finally put the pieces together.

“Michael…” he lets out the name he both loathes and despite everything still worships, because it’s bigger than him, bigger than anything he knows.

Gadreel remembers how he used to imagine this reunion. Not like that. Never like that. Michael shouldn’t be smiling. Michael shouldn’t be so damaged. Michael shouldn’t have forgotten.

“Michael?” he breaks with painful laughter. “Oh, no, Gadreel, not any more. Our name is Legion. But call me whatever you want. I don’t really care. I never did.”

“Michael,” stubbornly repeats Gadreel, slightly louder. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Michael shrugs perplexedly like saying ‘yet here I am’. He seems like he’s too exhausted to stand.

“You killed Lucifer…” he doesn’t know what was supposed to happen after, but others told him it was going to be the end of the world and the Kingdom would come. Yet, the world around hasn’t changed at all. No sign of salvation or retribution.

Michael looks at him and his eyes are hazy and intense at the same time, swarming with… demons, for the lack of better word. And those demons are dancing in some poisonous delirium. What is he thinking? What is he seeng?

“I was holding his still beating heart and then…” his hand slowly closes into fist making Gadreel imagine the scene vividly. “It was… liberating. He deserved it, Gadreel,” it doesn’t sound as excuse or judgement. It sounds lost but accepting.

“I know,” Gadreel replies quietly. He can’t argue with that. Lucifer betrayed him, betrayed everyone. And even from his prison he still could hear his brothers and sisters dying in agony in that war he started. But, truthfully, he could never believe that Michael,  _his Michael_ , would do it. And Michael apparently also took Lucifer’s place in the order of all things. Which… does make sense for some very simple reason he can’t formulate yet.  

Gadreel’s tongue fails him. He had so much to tell to Michael. Once. And now there is no point. No words, nor human, nor divine, can express what he feels. Love, hate, loss, hurt, unforgiveness… He’s just shaking his head in answer to a question Michael never asked and was never going to ask.

Michael’s legs give out. Gadreel catches him but he isn’t strong enough. They both end up on their knees, Michael leans on him but keeps his hands to himself. Only hot breath on Gadreel's neck.

“I’m cold,” Michael whispers into his shoulder, “I’m so cold.”

But as Gadreel finally wraps his arms around his brother it’s like trying to seize the glowing avalanche. But he doesn’t let go, just holds him closer, wanting to hurt, afraid to lose again. He thinks of reaching for his blade and bury it between Michael’s shoulder blades or under his ribs or slash his throat. But would that have any effect? It would hurt, sure. But other than that? In the past Gadreel would’ve been horrified at himself for such thoughts. Now? Now it’s too late to fear anything.

His fingers touch the sharp edge of once perfectly white feathers. He has no idea how much of Michael is left there. He can’t see how many new scars are hiding beneath the cloths and further, beneath the feverish skin. He can’t hear the song that used to take his breath away. Gadreel nuzzles dark hair. Michael smells like a nightmare. Like blood and fire. But this scent starts fading away. He knows what it means.

“No, don’t go,” Gadreel prays, losing him again, being left behind again… “Please.”

But his words are lost in the void because Michael is not here. Only a trace of ash on Gadreel’s skin where Michael’s breath touched him, and all he can think of is  _‘Not again’_.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you love it? Did you hate it?


End file.
